


play crack the sky

by cantsaythursday (horriblekids)



Series: asexual 'verse [1]
Category: All Time Low
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:59:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horriblekids/pseuds/cantsaythursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to you're aces. Focuses mainly on the evolution of Matt and Danny's relationship and how Evan and Vinny got lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It all starts because of a Louis Vuitton belt. Danny becomes friends with Alex and Jack on the second day of freshman year. He’s sitting in Intro to Philosophy with his notebook out and his messenger bag tucked underneath his legs when they climb over him into the last available seats and promptly start a rousing game of Hangman instead of paying attention to the lecturer. Actually, he doesn’t really blame them. This lecturer is about as interesting as watching grass grow, and the grass would be better to look at. So he watches them out of the corner of his eye and three things immediately become clear about the two of them: First, they’ve got the raunchiest sense of humour of anyone he’s ever met. Second, they’ve obviously known each other a long time to be able to do this wordlessly. Third, they’re very definitely together in the romantic sense. He can tell from the way they look at each other. Plus, they’re kind of holding hands under the desk and making eyes at each other. It’s sweet, in a horrible, disgusting kind of way.

He’s not sure whether or not to try and befriend them and is debating the best way to break the ice in his head when Alex leans over and says, “What the fuck are you wearing, man?” He glances down at his own clothes, then over to Alex’s and Jack’s. They’re pretty much the same. And then he realizes he’s wearing that stupid fucking belt, immediately feeling embarrassed because he knows that that thing says ‘trying too hard’ in a bad way. He’s embarrassed now because his family is filthy fucking rich and he doesn’t want any of it. He’s embarrassed because he’s so naive about the world and now these really cool guys are making fun of him and he doesn’t know what to do.

So, what comes out is awkward and sarcastic. “Oh, this old thing? I got it at Goodwill.” Which is a half-truth; Goodwill is where it’s headed. Possibly directly after this class, because he never wants to see it again and he certainly never wants to wear it. His mother bought it for him, actually, and he never really paid attention to it because he never really paid much attention to where his clothes were coming from. College kind of changes everything. There are so many people here with great style, and here he is with his prep school wardrobe feeling completely out of place. Alex’s brows disappear beneath his fringe; he and Jack look at each other and grin. When the lecture ends – and thank god it’s only an hour long or he’d end up using his bag as a pillow, seriously – Alex grabs his arm after he’s packed his stuff away. “Hey, what?” he says, feeling slightly startled.

“He’s going to make you come to lunch with us,” Jack answers matter-of-factly. He looks totally unconcerned by the heart Alex has drawn on the back of his hand; actually, he seems kind of pleased about it. “I’m Jack, by the way, and this is Alex, and – ow, don’t hit me, seriously! – umm, oh, he’s not actually making fun of your clothes. He’s just jealous ‘cause he’s obsessed with fashion and shit.”

Alex nods in agreement. “I like how you conveniently forgot to mention the part about being my boyfriend, asshole,” he grumbles. Then he gives the aforementioned boyfriend a playful shove before reaching for Jack’s hand and grabbing Danny’s arm with the other. “You are going to be our new best friend,” Alex declares, “and everyone is going to love you and think you’re fabulous. He’s cute, right Jack?” Danny has come to the conclusion that Alex is what his mother refers to as an extreme personality – loud, colourful, and always needing to be the center of attention. It’s fairly obvious that Alex is the center of Jack’s whole world, so it works well for them. He’s not so sure about this whole ‘new best friends’ business, though. The whole way to the cafeteria, Alex and Jack fill him in on the rest of their group – as if he’s going to be able to remember all of this information right away – and he’s just kind of wondering if there’s some kind of vibe queer people give off that causes them to group together or something, because seriously. He’s just been adopted by the most adorable-slash-sickening gay couple ever.

“... You forgot to tell him about the time Vinny was talking to the bottles, shitface,” Jack says as they enter the noisy, crowded space. Danny pays closer attention to them while they’re getting food; he’s trying to figure their relationship out. “Oh, dude, don’t worry if you can’t remember everyone’s name at first; I still get Alex confused with Cassadee sometimes because they have the same haircut.”

Alex rolls his eyes and mutters something darkly under his breath which Danny does not catch. They pay for everything and Danny has just put his wallet away when Alex grabs him again and hauls him to the back section of the cafeteria where the actual booths are, as opposed to the long, low tables in the main area. Jack slides into the booth first, next to a petite girl with long blonde hair, and Alex immediately slides in next to him. He sits down at the end next to Alex, still feeling incredibly awkward, and the awkwardness only increases from there when one of their friends – he hasn’t been properly introduced or anything and seriously, so, so awkward – says, “Ugh, where’d you pick up the frat boy?”

Sitting across from him is quite possibly the most stunning male he’s ever seen, scowling at him with a look that could melt the polar ice caps. Except that the guy obviously hates him – and how shitty is that, anyway, judging someone before you even know them? – so he’s going to have to hide his attraction. Luckily, he doesn’t need to think of a witty comeback because before he can say anything, Alex interjects with, “Matt, don’t be a crusty bastard. He’s nice!” It’s still embarrassing as hell. He spends the rest of lunch making solid eye contact with his fries and giving one-word responses whenever someone asks him a question.

It turns out that he has his next class with Lisa, the blonde girl, who turns out to be really nice. They walk over to the Humanities building together. “Don’t worry about what Matt thinks,” she tells him. “He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder ‘cause he’s here on scholarship and he works two jobs just to make rent. He’s really a sweetie once you get to know him. It’s cute, actually – he’s best friends with Grieco and he’s uber-protective. You’ll meet Grieco later, I suppose, and Rian. They’re both music majors, you know; they play drums. And Rian has a tendency to fawn over Grieco something awful, so don’t be surprised if Matt threatens to break your kneecaps if you look at him the wrong way.”

“Oh,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. To change the subject, he asks, “So what’s your major? Or have you decided yet?”

She shrugs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Probably something more business-oriented. I’d like to do marketing, but it seems a little hokey so I want to try a couple of classes before I decide. What about you? Obviously you’re taking Phil 101 with the idiots, but what else are you interested in?”

“Music, I guess,” he says, “and art and history and stuff. I don’t really know. Basically the only reason I came here is because my parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t find a job or go to school and I thought taking classes would at least be interesting. They want me to major in one of the sciences, I don’t know. I’m thinking either philosophy or political science.”

“Why don’t you major in music?” Lisa asks him.

He scoffs. “I think they’d actually kick me out if I said something like that. My parents are pretty conservative. I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack when I got my nose pierced,” he says, touching the ring with his thumb absently. Pretty soon he’ll be able to change the jewellery in it, which he’s excited about. The ring it was pierced with looks kind of stupid. He ends up telling Lisa about going to private school and his parents and what it’s like living with them, and she tells him that Alex went to private school, too, and by the time their psychology lecture starts he’s learned most of the backstory of the group. Of course, he hasn’t learned what he really wants to know yet... He spends the rest of the lecture not paying attention to their professor and instead falls into a daydream about one particular scruffy, dark-haired boy with a lip ring and a scowl that rivals the Dark Lord’s. Although, Matt’s much better-looking than the Darkest wizard to ever live. He’s kind of hot in that dark, mysterious brooding way.

Honestly, though, Danny’s just relieved to have made actual friends that – mostly – seem to like him as a person and not because his parents are wealthy. It’s a little overwhelming, but comforting. Alex and Jack are adorable together, if a little overbearing, Lisa’s the sweetest girl ever, and the others seem nice too, though he hasn’t really gotten to know them yet. Well, he’s not really including Matt in the ‘seems nice’ clause, because the guy seems like he’s a real asshole, despite Lisa’s claims to the contrary. He just happens to be incredibly attractive. And have piercings. Which, to be completely honest, is one of Danny’s biggest turn-ons. Not that he’s fantasizing about making out with the guy and, like, biting at his lip ring or anything.

&

Matt dislikes his job waiting tables more than almost anything in the world. The only thing he hates more than his job is pretentious fucking hipsters, which is his justification for hating Danny Kurily, if anyone asks. But they don’t ask. They don’t ask because he will wax poetic to whoever he wants to about his hate for the guy, goddammit, and the guy is just asking for someone to hate on him. He wears stupid designer jeans and checkered scarves around his neck and half his fucking wardrobe is from American Apparel, and Matt? Fucking hates American Apparel with a passion. Every time he sees Kurily show up to the lunch table wearing one of those hoodies with the bright, sunny coloured fabric and the white drawstrings and zipper track, he fantasizes darkly about leaping over the table in a Mean Girls-style montage – which he has totally seen, for the record – and tackling him, ripping the offending garment from his body before proceeding to kiss the smirk off that pretty face and... Before that thought can finish, he’s snapped out of his reverie by his supervisor’s voice.

“Flyzik!” Nano sighs. “Stop daydreaming and go check on table four, would you?” He knows that Nano hates him; he actually believes that Nano is actively trying to get him fired, which is why he has to toe the line and take everything but his plugs out for work, which annoys him to no end. It’s not even worth the few dollars in tips he takes home at the end of every shift. He’s been trying to get hired at the place where Rian teaches drums to snotty little rich brats in the afternoons and on weekends, but again, no one wants to hire a scuzzy punk kid with piercings, so this is the best he can do. He tucks his little golf pencil behind his ear for safekeeping, flips his notepad to a fresh page, plasters the biggest, fakest smile he can muster up on, and stalks out of the back to check on the godforsaken table.

The smile falters slightly when he sees that it’s people he actually knows. Oh, fuck. And to make it even more fun, it’s the one person that being at work generally gives him a reprieve from. Lisa and Kara are sitting diagonally across from each other, flanked by Grieco – he’s happy to see his best friend, at least – and then there’s him. The enemy. If he were a dog, he’d be growling with hackles raised and backing away slowly. The corner of his mouth twitches; he wishes he had his jewellery in so he could chew on the backs of them. “Hey,” he says flatly, slouching and fumbling in the front of his coffee-stained apron for his notepad. “What can I get you guys?”

Grieco doesn’t order anything; he’s just there to hang out until Matt finishes his shift. Lisa and Kara, as usual, order a basket of fries to share – can they just start dating and put an end to the sexual tension between them, already? – and he’s honestly surprised when Kurily orders a black coffee instead of what he’s expecting, namely some complicated thing with an exotic name and five different types of cream. In other words, he’s kind of expecting the guy to order a girly drink, so when Danny says, “Coffee. Black,” he stands there for a minute blinking. “Come on,” Danny sighs, “I know that black coffee is not a foreign concept for you. It’s the same colour as your soul.”

“I kind of thought normal coffee might’ve been too mainstream for you,” he retorts lamely, tossing his notepad from hand to hand uncomfortably. “You sure you don’t want a triple-thick, no-fat caramel vanilla mint macchiato or something, frat boy?”

“You sure you don’t want some help pulling the stick out of your ass? Or is that constipated expression just your version of a smile?”

Before the argument can escalate any further, Kara gives him a dirty look and says, “Boys...” in her most authoritative tone of voice. Then he sees Nano lurking out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t want to give the guy any more reason to hate him, so rather than argue with someone who’s obviously not worth his time, he stomps to the back and asks for the girls’ fries and makes Danny’s coffee. He’s half-tempted to spit in it, but he doesn’t. The idea of exchanging saliva with Kurily – in any sense of the phrase – is revolting. At least, that’s the name he has for the tightening feeling in his gut whenever he thinks about the kid, which is happening a hell of a lot more often than he’d like. Because... he’d like to not think about the kid at all. He’d like to not wake up from a dream about the bastard to an erection that could put someone’s eye out ever again, thank you very much.

So, he makes Kurily’s coffee black. Like his soul. Yeah, he’s a heartless jerk at time, but it takes two to tango. Not that he wants to dance with the guy. Or do anything with him. Ever. When he returns to the table with their order in tow, Lisa and Kara are deep in conversation about some movie they’d seen over the weekend and – he feels a little twitch of pleasure at this factoid – Kurily looks bored out of his mind. Grieco is tapping out some complicated-sounding rhythm on the tabletop and frowning at a sheaf of sheet music. “Syncopation,” he explains with a sad smile. “It’s a real bitch.”

“You should ask Ri to help you with it this weekend if he’s not working,” he says. Grieco blushes and hides his face in his shirt. He’s sort of in awe of the other man, which is adorable and sweet and all kinds of cute. “Anyways, your fries, ladies, and one black coffee. I’m surprised you think I have one, though.” It’s immensely satisfying to watch Kurily inspect his coffee suspiciously before he turns on his heel and walks swiftly away, ignoring the flapping of the stupid apron against his legs. He has the worst job ever. The rest of the shift passes without event, but Matt finds himself more jumpy and irritable than usual. Fucking Kurily. Something about the kid seriously irks him and he can’t explain it.

It’s not just his clothes. It’s the fact that the kid has never had to work for anything in his life; it’s been handed to him, so far as Matt can tell, by Mommy and Daddy on a silver platter. He hasn’t a fucking clue what he wants to major in, so he’ll probably drop out by the end of the year, and it’s such a waste of time and money for everyone involved. Matt resents the way that every one of his friends is smitten with the guy, even Evan, who is his roommate and therefore should be on his side in this. Vinny actually had the gall to tell him, the other day, that “Danny isn’t so bad once you get to know him, bro. He doesn’t act like a spoiled brat at all.” Like hell he doesn’t. If he isn’t a spoiled brat, then maybe he should stop wearing fucking Dolce and Gabbana socks and shoes that cost the equivalent of Matt’s rent for an entire month. It’s all so fucking pretentious that it makes him sick. Just thinking about it turns his stomach; he feels uncomfortable, all hot and tight and itchy.

&

Danny’s next encounter with Matt is no more pleasant than the last few have been. He’s sitting in the quad going over his notes for his weekly test in Anthropology with Evan, trying to remember what the movie they watched in lecture on Monday was since he slept through it, when Evan flags Matt down. Immediately, his stomach sinks so low it’s almost at floor level; if he got up and walked away now it would drag behind him and burst, leaving a trail of slippery, oily innards.

“Consorting with the enemy, I see,” Matt grumbles, turning a chair around to straddle it, leaning over the back of it to study the text Evan’s bent over with a pink highlighter in hand. He’s wearing baggy cargo shorts, a threadbare t-shirt, and Danny has to force himself to keep focusing on his notes so he doesn’t start salivating. It’s thoroughly unfair that the hottest guy he’s ever met also has to be the nastiest. The thought has occurred to him – more than once – that perhaps Matt would be nicer if he just got laid once in a while. Preferably by someone by the name of Danny Kurily. It would be great; they could shout at each other and then randomly start making out and have really, really, ridiculously hot hate-sex. Maybe... maybe Matt has piercings in other places, too. He’d be a lot less frustrated by the whole thing if he didn’t notice every fucking thing Matt does. Like the bruise on his left shin, angry and purple against his naturally pale skin; that’s a new one, probably from working last night at his job as a bouncer at this shitty local music venue.

He doesn’t look up from his notes, which implies that he’s ignoring the other man. It’s another one of those fabulous half-truths. He’s wearing sweats and an ugly t-shirt with his high school’s logo on it. “Evan’s Switzerland,” he mutters. “Neutral territory.”

“Evan isn’t getting involved in your stupid beef,” Evan says grumpily, stabbing a sheet of notebook paper angrily with his highlighter. “Seriously, you guys should do us all a favour and make out already. It would save a lot of bickering.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches like it’s full of insults just waiting to come out, and sure enough, seconds later, he spits, “Don’t be fucking disgusting, dude. Like I would ever want to make out with him. Fucking hipster douche.” The intensity of Matt’s glare makes Danny wish the earth would open up, suck him into itself, and then neatly sew itself back together again, good as new. He shoves his books into his bag hastily, slings the strap over his shoulder, and leaves wordlessly. It would be better if he could get a parting shot in, but he doesn’t dare. Matt Flyzik silently judging him for wearing sweatpants and his man-Uggs is punishment enough. They make a soft shuffling noise as he stomps across campus to the parking lot. Before he’s even gotten to his car, he can see the ticket tucked neatly under his windshield wipers.

Then, he sees the wheel clamp firmly attached to the back tire of his car, and he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He paid his fucking parking tickets. He paid those fucking tickets weeks ago – well, his parents did, but either way, they’re fucking paid! Now how is he supposed to get home? Angrily, he snatches up the ticket and shoves it crumpled into his pocket before stomping back across the lot with his hands balled into tight fists. His messenger bag slams into the backs of his knees with every step, and he doesn’t care. Stomp. “Fuck,” he groans. Stomp. Stomp. He nearly trips over a rock. “Fuck me,” he groans. “My parents are going to kill me.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. He wishes, not for the first time, that he owned a pair of really heavy work boots that would make noise when he stomped his feet. He wishes he weren’t so fucking naive and trusting and that there wasn’t a fucking boot on his car, leaving him with no way home.

Evan’s not there when he gets back to the quad – he’s probably halfway to his journalism class already, fuck – but Matt is still sitting there in the same chair, reading his economics textbook with possibly the most adorable look of concentration ever. He plants himself solidly in the chair he’d been using before, drops his bag on the floor, and says, “I give you full permission to make fun of me if you fuckin’ help me out this once.”

“What’s in it for me?” Matt asks, without losing his place on the page. “I mean, besides the pleasure of gloating. ‘Cause that’s kind of an obvious one.” He’s flicking his lip ring with the tip of his tongue; it’s hot and distracting and totally not. fucking. helping the situation at all.

“Depends how much help you are to me, I guess? Anyway. So I have, like, unpaid parking tickets or whatever, apparently, and the parking enforcement dicks put a boot on my car so I have no way to get home and no fucking idea what to do ‘cause I don’t have enough cash on me for a cab ride and my parents are totally going to slaughter me and.... yeah.” He stares down at his ugly-ass tan boot things and sighs. Matt isn’t going to help him; he should have expected that. They aren’t friends. He can wait for someone else to be out of class. Yeah, he’ll do that. He pulls the ticket out of his pocket, looks at it sadly. It’s not that much money. It’s the fact that, once again, his parents flat-out lied to him about taking care of shit when they clearly haven’t. So he’s pissed off at them.

To his surprise, Matt hauls him up onto his feet by the back of his shirt, looks at him condescendingly and says, “Well, come on if we’re doing this, then.”

“... Doing what?” he asks incredulously. Because – first of all, holy fuck Matt is stronger than he expected, which is a million different flavours of hot he really shouldn’t think about while wearing sweatpants – but more importantly, the guy isn’t being a dick to him for once. He has to jog to keep up, and he’s really not sure where they’re going. “Wait, wait, where the fuck are we going?”

“We’re taking the bus,” Matt informs him. “I’m assuming you know what those are.”

Danny has never taken the bus before. He’s never had to. Until he turned sixteen and got his first car, his parents drove him to school every day or else he carpooled with his friends’ parents. He watches while Matt shuffles around in the various pockets of his shorts, looking for the exact change for bus fare. “Would you fucking stop that,” he sighs, pulling a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “I’ve got this.” It’s hard to ignore the relieved look that creeps its way into Matt’s eyes. Then he feels guilty about being so well-off when other people have to work so damn hard just to make ends meet. He feels a bit like an alien when the bus finally rolls up to the curb and they board; the bus driver gives him a blank stare when he tries to hand her the bill and then realizes he’s supposed to put the money in the little box thing.

He feels even stupider when Matt snickers and says, “You might want to give me dipshit’s transfer in case he loses it.” Then Matt grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down the aisle before crowding him into a seat. Danny puts his bag in his lap, which has surprisingly little to do with his desire to make room for the elderly lady sitting on his left and almost everything to do with the fact that Matt stands directly in front of him with one arm up, hand curled loosely around the handrail. It’s fucking torturous. Matt’s shirt has ridden up a couple of inches and he’s trying really, really hard not to think about that. But he can see skin; it’s right there, right in front of him, basically free porn. He thinks about how much he would like to touch that skin. He thinks about how Matt would probably get that really bitchy look on his face if he did it, the way his lips purse and his nose scrunches up. He’s incredibly relieved when the old lady gets off at her stop and Matt slumps quietly into the seat instead so he can stop thinking about it.

It’s not until the next day when he finds out that Matt and Evan’s apartment is only ten minutes from campus. Matt rode the entire way with him, and he didn’t have to do that. Maybe it was just so Evan wouldn’t invite him to stay at their place or anything. He doesn’t understand what he did to make Matt hate him this much besides simply existing. For a long time after he’s home, he sits in his room and plays one of his guitars, which usually makes him feel better. It doesn’t. He could play until the strings slice his fingers open and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He’s all full of cliché teen angst and he hates his parents and he hates hot boys that make him feel things he doesn’t understand. He had kind of hoped that he could lure Matt into the house so they could make out and have hot, dirty hate-sex. Or, you know, maybe next time he’ll remember to mention the fact that he has two Fender guitars and a vintage Strat and see if he can lure Matt using that information. It’ll probably make Matt hate him even more.

&

Evan hears the lock on the door of the apartment click open when Matt comes home from work at two-thirty in the morning. He’s still awake, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep; there’s something weighing heavy on his mind but no one to talk to about it. Matt’s not going to understand, this time. And he’s sure as hell not going to talk to Grieco about this one – mostly because Matt will threaten to break his kneecaps again for attempting to poison his best friend’s innocent mind – and... Well, fuck, he can’t talk to Vinny about it because Vinny is the goddamn problem. The thing is, he didn’t mean for it to happen. He can’t straighten out his thoughts.

They were watching Cartoon Network and drinking beers, and suddenly Vinny looked at him and said, “Hey,” giving him this odd sort of look. He shifted on the couch, carefully balancing his beer between his thighs, and twisted around to look at Vinny properly. The bottle of Heineken was still cold from the fridge; there was a line of caps on the coffee table.

He said, “Hey” back and clinked his nails along the neck of his bottle.

It wasn’t like this long, drawn-out thing or anything, not like with his girlfriend. Vinny blinked, said, “I’m just going to...” and they made out. Completely uncomplicated. Except that it totally was –and it is, still – because, shit, he made out with his best friend on his and Matt’s couch and probably really needs to do something about it. Because then there were Vinny’s hands inside his shirt, they were suddenly horizontal, and he forgot completely about his beer, spilling it all over the carpet in the process. He wasn’t thinking about her then, and she’s still only a tiny afterthought in the corner of his brain now. It didn’t mean anything, right? They’re best friends.

And afterward, Vinny had been all awkward and fumbling, sliding feet into shoes with the laces flapping around his ankles undone. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t, and he crawled into bed with the deeply unsettling feeling that Vinny wasn’t, either.

It doesn’t change anything. He still has a girlfriend. Vinny’s still his best friend. They watch Sunday Night Football together and drink the same brand of beer. But it also changes everything. They’re never going to be able to have a conversation again where he’s not looking at Vinny’s lips and thinking about what they feel like. He’d do it again. That’s the scary part. And it isn’t like he has never thought about this kind of thing before. The majority of his friends are in some way queer, so he is not really bothered by the idea. It’s the principle of the thing.

His throat feels dry and tight; he climbs out of bed and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Matt’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his ramen to finish cooking. The X’s on the backs of his hands are still prominent. “You’re up late,” Matt comments.

“Can’t sleep,” he replies, stretching up and over Matt’s shoulder to get a glass from the cupboard. His water is room temperature, tasting slightly metallic since neither of them remembered to change the filter on the tap. It’s the unmistakable taste of guilt on his tongue, he’s sure of it. “How was work?” he asks, perching himself on the edge of the counter.

“It was,” Matt says, a hard look on his face, “work. I threw out some asshole trying to cop a feel on this kid. Nasty fucker.” From the look on his face, Evan knows that it’s not just some kid. He knows that expression. It’s the same look he had in high school the first day they met Grieco. Matt will never admit to it, but he was maybe half in love with Alex Grieco for a long time. They’ve been friends for long enough that Evan can read him pretty well. So he doesn’t need Matt to admit it to know that the guy’s got a crush, which is why he feels okay going to bed without saying the thing bouncing around inside him and driving him crazy.

He decides he’d better brush his teeth before bed. The toothpaste is too strong; he stands in their tiny bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror with a gob of toothpaste on his shirt and says, “Well, shit.” He doesn’t look any different, but he feels different. Same goofy-looking nose, same bad haircut, but something in him has changed. It probably says too much that he’s freaking out about a drunken kiss more than he’s ever freaked out about his girlfriend. He doesn’t want to think about that. When he finally sleeps, thankfully, it’s dreamless.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next month, Matt’s hatred for the rich little prick gets significantly less volatile. This is mostly Jack’s doing; Jack Barakat will fucking nag anyone to get what he wants and he doesn’t give up easily. He suspects, actually, that that’s how he convinced Alex to go out with him in the first place. No one really knows for sure. Jack and Alex have been together for so long no one can remember what it was like for them to be apart. They just turned up to school one day and there were the two of them, sucking face in front of Alex’s locker, and that was that. No drama, no angst, only two idiots stupidly in love with each other that somehow got lucky and got it right the first time. He doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash anymore when they start making out in the middle of a conversation. It must be nice, having someone that completely in love with you.   
  
Part of the reason he’s come to hate Danny less than usual is because, well, dude has a car and it’s kind of nice being able to mooch rides instead of taking the bus everywhere. He doesn’t even mind having to be in the car with the kid since – much to his surprise – Danny has a pretty decent CD collection and actually lets him borrow them so he can rip them to his laptop. It smells like fake pine air freshener in the car, which he hates, but it’s also warm and dry and uncrowded. Most of the time he sits in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, bag by his feet, and watches the little pine tree sway back and forth slightly. They listen to The Smiths a lot and, all things considered, there are worse places he could be.   
  
“So my parents are going away,” Danny says to him one Friday. “I’m thinking we should throw a house party tonight. That’s what people do when they want to piss their parents off, right?”  
  
“You say ‘we’ like you think I’m actually going to help you with this.” He does and undoes the pin of the Rancid pin on his backpack listlessly. Matt doesn’t like parties. For one thing, he doesn’t drink, and for another, it’s a little sickening watching everyone he knows get shit-faced and have one-night stands which they will later regret. Plus, he has to watch out for Grieco, make sure no one does anything untoward to him. He doesn’t like Danny for that reason, too; he’s a little too chummy with Grieco for his own good. “As amusing as your little act of teenage rebellion is to me, watching your friends smash Mommy and Daddy’s designer lamps is not high on my list of things to do. I work as a bouncer; I don’t want to have to do that shit when I’m not getting paid.”   
  
Danny scowls and says, “Fine, then don’t come. I wouldn’t want you to be in my house anyway. You’re mean. You’re a fucking jerk. But,” he continues, pulling over and parallel parking between a Hummer and a Smart Car on one of the downtown side-streets, “since you decided to be a dick, you can walk the rest of the way to work.” The automatic locks spring open.   
  
Matt gets out of the car, shrugging into the straps of his backpack, and stands there watching while Danny drives away. He just got fucking stranded in the middle of downtown, and now he’s going to be late for work. Shit. So he stands there digging around in his pockets, feeling in the bottom seams of his bag for loose change, and comes up with a grand total of seven dollars and eighty-three cents, which he was planning to use to buy himself dinner on his break. Now he gets to make the fantastically fun decision of whether he gets to work on time or gets to eat dinner. He wonders if the prick knows what he fucking did or if he’s just naturally a huge dickweed. If he only gets a cab halfway, then he can make it to work on time if he jogs and still afford a small coffee later. The sad thing is that he’s actually considering going to the party. It’s on the bus route home and it’s a better idea than leaving it to chance that Evan will be sober enough to drive himself back to the apartment. He twists the lanyard his keys are on around his fingers thoughtfully. His Mickey Mouse keychain dangles between the key to the lobby of the building and the key to the apartment cheerfully.   
  
Before he’s keyed in the final digit of his favourite cab company, the car pulls back into the same parking space sloppily. The passenger-side window rolls down and Danny pokes his head out. “Get in,” he sighs. “I’m not that heartless.”   
  
“What’d you do, drive around the block to punish me? Not cool, man.” He climbs back into the passenger seat, silently grateful. “If you ever decide to get a better wardrobe, don’t give any of your Ed Hardy shit to Alex. You look like a dick.” Then he reaches over to eject the CD playing –   
  
“- don’t fucking touch my CD player,” Danny groans.  
  
– and switches it out for the new Jimmy Eat World album. “If you’re going to have a party,” he says solemnly, “you need really good beer. People love trashing houses if there’s good beer.” He purposely doesn’t ask why, exactly, they’re trying to piss Danny’s parents off. Because if he asks why, that implies that he cares, and soon enough he could find himself sucked into caring about the little bastard the way the rest of his friends have. It’s just a little bit difficult for him to sympathize with poor, rich, privileged Kurily, whose biggest problem in life is being unable to count to a high enough number to count the endless stacks of hundred dollar bills at his disposal. He’s probably going to be handing out briefcases full of money at the party, or something. That would really piss anyone’s parents off.   
  
Okay, so he’s being slightly miserable about the whole thing. It’s frustrating for him. Danny looks at him with huge, pleading blue eyes and asks, quietly, “If I gave you like twenty bucks extra, would you buy the beer for me?”  
  
Matt wants to say no. He can find someone else to buy him shitty imported beer. But then... twenty bucks. That’s enough for a cab ride home instead of a damp, smelly bus full of drunk frat boys who will undoubtedly harass him, call him a fag, and skulk along behind him while he walks from the bus stop to his apartment. It’s the cab ride; that’s why he does it. It’s not because of anything else. “You make it really fuckin’ hard to hate you, you know that?” he says when Danny drops him at work – it’s only two blocks from Danny’s house to Matt’s work, interesting factoid – and Danny fucking smirks at him.   
  
He hates that smirk. What it does to him, on a visceral level. It feels like – it makes him feel like he’s in high school again. That first day when he met Grieco and they didn’t speak a word to each other until, at the end of the only class they ever shared together, Jack marched up to him and said, “If you don’t go talk to that kid I’m going to punch you in the face,” so he did it. And he didn’t like Grieco at first because it made him feel all these uncomfortable things; then he really liked Grieco way too much, and that’s another story entirely. He recognizes the potential for that, again, and he’s trying to avoid it. Because falling in love with the rich kid one of his friends has adopted into their group is only going to mean bad things. It’s tragically, unfortunately cliché. Matt knows he’s from the wrong side of the tracks, knows that if anything were to ever happen, it would be because Danny’s trying to piss off his parents and not out of any sort of caring. They hate each other.   
  
But on the up side, he’s got twenty dollars in his wallet. “You seem surprisingly chipper for someone who had to accept a ride from his sworn enemy,” Jeff says when he walks in to the back room. “Or is he actually turning out to be human after all?”  
  
“The only reason he drives me around is because Jack makes him,” he reminds the bartender gruffly. “He’s still a rich hipster scumbag. I mean, even if he does have good taste in music.” He strips out of his t-shirt and pulls on the ugly, thick polo with the word SECURITY printed on the back, careful not to let the fabric catch on his lip ring.   
  
Jeff punches him in the arm playfully. “C’mon, Mickey,” Jeff says, grinning. “The world won’t come to a screeching halt if you admit to liking the guy a little bit.”  
  
His cheeks grow hot almost instantly. “I do not fucking like him! He called me mean, man. Then he kicked me out of the car.”   
  
Jeff’s grin only seems to grow. “Yeah, but he came back.”   
  
“Only so I’d buy him beer so he can have this stupid house party tonight to piss his parents off. Fucking kids,” he grumbles. He clips his radio to the front of his shirt and presses the button to make sure it actually works and doesn’t need new batteries or anything. He should never have said anything about it to Jeff, who seems utterly convinced that Matt is harbouring a secret lust for the little rat bastard. It’s not true. He pulls the Sharpie from behind his ear and draws big X’s on the backs of both hands.   
  
“Well, are you going to the party?”  
  
He groans internally. “To pick Evan up and drive him home, yeah, but I’m not actually going to the party to be at the party. Also to check on Grieco, you know...”   
  
Jeff pats him on the top of his head in a patronizing manner. “Mmm,” the other man hums. “And you’re telling me that if Danny just happens to come onto you and you haven’t gotten laid in over a year, you’d say no? Like, if he wouldn’t remember any of it the next day and you could leave before he even got up?”   
  
“This isn’t some creepy gay version of Cinderella,” he sighs. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that question.” Before Jeff can ask him any more annoying questions about Danny – and seriously, what the fuck? – it’s time to start. Nothing like a night of stamping hands and checking fake Arizona drivers’ licenses to keep his mind off things. It’s a rather uneventful evening. The bands playing that night are mediocre screamo bands whose vocalists couldn’t do a clean vocal live if the world depended on it. Some kid throws up in the men’s room. That’s about it. When two a.m. rolls around and the staff finally closes up shop, he walks the two blocks over to the party instead of taking the bus. That’s a small coffee and a donut in the morning.   
  
When he arrives, the party is pretty much over. Evan’s car is gone. He finds Jack and Alex passed out in one of the bedrooms, curled up so closely together they may as well be one person. Grieco is still there, as is Alex-and-Jack’s other roommate, Rian. Matt eyes Rian warily and says, “What’s up,” eyeing him suspiciously. He’s got his arm around Grieco. That doesn’t sit well with him. But the look Rian is giving his best friend is so pathetically earnest.   
  
“He’s just drunk,” Rian explains. “Right, buddy?” Grieco grins very drunkenly, giggles, and tucks his head under Rian’s chin. “I’m waiting for him to sober up and then I’m going to walk him home. Kara drove Evan and Vinny home, so you don’t need to worry about those two lugs.” For the first time, Matt feels like maybe he’s not going to need to break the guy’s kneecaps. Or any other part of his visage. He walks through the rest of the house, surveying the damage done, and comes to the conclusion that his friends do some fucking nice work trashing stuff. Now that he’s seen the inside of Danny’s house, he kind of wishes he’d been here to see it all unfold. It is a really nice house. The Kurily family are matching-sofas people. He fucking hates matching-sofas people.  
  
As he wanders through the rest of the house, he finds the one room that doesn’t go with the rest of them, and he has to admit that he’s suitably impressed. Posters of Morrisey and the Sex Pistols, the Clash, blink-182 and Green Day. Danny’s sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor with a guitar in his hands, and damned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing Matt has ever seen. The guitar, that is. Not the boy. It feels creepy to be lurking in the doorway, though, so he clears his throat and rolls his eyes when Danny looks surprised to see him.   
  
“Good party?” he asks.   
  
He can tell Danny’s drunk by the slightly glazed look of his eyes – not that he spends any prolonged amount of time thinking about the dude’s eyes, seriously, even if they are kind of an awesome colour – and the way he slurs his words. “You were right about the beer. It was awesome and somebody brought shooters and it was – we all basked in each other’s awesomeness all night.” The thing is, right now Matt actually doesn’t hate the kid. Watching him play guitar, moving his fingers over the frets without so much as looking at them when he’s this intoxicated, is fucking fascinating. He’s practically glowing.   
  
Abruptly, he says, “Why the fuck are you a poli-sci major? You should be in music.” It’s the truth. Danny Kurily is not going to become a politician. He’s not going to become an activist. Even sitting shirtless in the middle of his bedroom playing his acoustic while drunk, it’s clear that he needs to do this for the rest of his life. Kurily must be playing some kind of fairy song or something; suddenly Matt’s thoughts are cloudy and unclear, swirling around half-formed like smoke before dissolving. He kneels down on the carpet in front of Danny, ignoring the roughness of the carpet on his exposed knees. “If you really want to piss your parents off, you should switch your major.”  
  
“I can think of other things I could do that would piss my parents off,” Danny remarks. “Like drop out. Or join a cult.”  
  
Suddenly Matt remembers what Jeff had said to him earlier. “I bet your parents would really hate me,” he says. He drags his knuckles over the carpet. He sucks his lip ring into his mouth and holds it between his teeth. They look at each other awkwardly, but surprisingly he can’t find anything cutting to say. It’s not the end of the world. He doesn’t know what to do. The single thought that occurs to him – over and over and over again – is that if they kissed right now, the only person who would remember it is him. Before he can do anything he regrets he stands up and leaves. Fuck waiting for the bus; he walks the whole way home, an hour’s worth of sleep lost, but with each footfall he comes up with another reason he hates Danny Kurily and another reason he doesn’t like the guy. He meant what he said.   
  


&

  
  
Vinny wakes up amidst a tangle of blankets and sweaty limbs, still feeling the ache low in his back. It shoots up his spine every time he moves. He doesn’t remember, but he knows what must have happened. Evan’s sound asleep next to him, snoring loudly. And Evan’s iPhone in its docking station informs him that Evan has missed three calls this morning, all from his girlfriend. Which, shit. Because his best friend’s arm is slung across his waist, keeping him close, and his entire body aches straight through to the bone. He really doesn’t want to deal with consequences at this point in time. It smells like sex in Evan’s bed.   
  
They smell like sex.  
  
He thinks there’s no point in pussyfooting around the issue, so he shakes Evan gently and whispers, “Hey. Hey. Wake the fuck up.” The roughness of his own voice catches him off-guard, just a little bit. Evan groans and rolls over, shielding his eyes from the sunlight beginning to stream in through the window and taking most of the blankets with him in the process.   
  
“Hnnnnnf.”  
  
“Ev, wake up,” he insists, attempting half-assedly to steal some of the covers back because it is fucking cold in the apartment this morning. He ends up with his chest pressed to Evan’s back. It’s surprisingly more comfortable than he thought it’d be; almost feels natural, like he belongs there. “Kirkendall, if you don’t wake your ass up right now I’m leaving. It’s too cold for this shit.”  
  
Evan grunts, rolls back over and holds the blankets up long enough for him to slip under them. “Are we okay?” he asks quietly. “After last night?” But they’re not okay, not really; this is kind of one of those things that either makes or breaks a friendship, and Vinny knows the dude well enough to know that he’s probably got some crazy inner turmoil about this particular turn of events.   
  
He doesn’t want it to be weird between them, so Vinny says, “Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine. You’re still a fuckin’ pain in the ass, ‘s not gonna change any time soon.” This, at least, makes Evan laugh and relax a little bit. They lie in bed for at least another half hour, not talking, when Evan’s phone rings again. “You should answer that,” he sighs. “It’s probably Ashley.”  
  
For the first time since they started dating – Evan and Ashley, not Evan and Vinny; they’re not dating and that would be really fucking weird if they did – Evan rolls his eyes and groans. But he takes the call, reaching over Vinny to grab his phone from the bedside table. “Hey, babe,” he yawns. “Party was good... No, Rian and Grieco did not declare their love for each other and – no, no, Matt didn’t show up. He’d rather drive rusty nails into his retinas. How was class...?”   
  
Vinny leans over and says into the phone, brightly, “Hi Ashley, I love you! When ya gonna dump Kirkendall for me so we can go on our date? I’m still waiting...” Evan rolls his eyes, obviously trying to contain his laughter. They can both hear her laughing on the other end of the line. In a lower tone of voice he says, “Okay, I’m gonna go, but text me later.” He’s not even surprised when Evan shifts the phone away from his face for long enough to press their lips together quickly. Evan watches him get dressed, too, sitting with his phone in one hand and playing with the corner of his sheet with the other. It’s unnerving how cavalier they’re being about this, this... thing. Once he’s found all of his clothes – and his hoodie is in the living room draped over the lamp, what the fuck...? – Evan is up and about, although he’s only wearing a pair of boxers and is moving with the sluggishness of being really, really hung over.  
  
“Call you later,” Evan mumbles at him as he’s walking out the door. It’s not nearly a long enough walk back to his dorm. At least Grieco won’t ask him any awkward questions. He was lucky to get such a cool roommate.   
  


&

  
  
It’s honestly a bit surprising when Danny gets invited to Evan’s apartment to cram for their Anthro midterm. Considering the way Matt has been acting toward him lately – less than volatile, but certainly not friendly – he half-expects there to be a bucket of pig’s blood hanging over the door waiting to be dumped on him. He’s been reading a lot of Stephen King for his English Lit class and it’s kind of going to his head a little more than it should. The worst thing that happens when he walks in is Matt giving him this very pissed off yet very sexy look; from that point on he gets ignored. It’s terribly distracting sitting there trying to concentrate on his notes – which are about as interesting as wet paint to him, seriously – when less than six feet away, Matt is sprawled out on the couch reading some beat-up book from the library in nothing but a pair of baggy pajama pants sitting low on his hips. They’re only up to the fifth chapter they’re supposed to know and he can barely pay attention.   
  
“Dude, don’t punk out on me now,” Evan sighs. “If you don’t help me with this we are so going to fail this midterm tomorrow.” He pops the tab on his fifth Red Bull in about as many hours; he’s completely wired so Danny has no idea whether he’s absorbing any of the information or not. Come to think of it, he’s been acting weird lately anyway, so it’s anyone’s guess whether he’ll actually make it through the actual test without crashing. He’s been spending most of their study time texting someone – probably his girlfriend, if the stupid grin that he has every time his phone vibrates is any indication – and he’s been oddly reclusive lately, guarded.   
  
When the phone vibrates again, Matt grabs it before Evan can get to it, glares at him, and says, “I’m going to lock this in my room and you can’t have it back until you actually study. You’re going to fucking fail this test if you don’t start concentrating on what you’re doing. No more energy drinks, either. That shit fucks with your head too much.”   
  
Danny absolutely does not stare at Matt’s ass when he goes to throw Evan’s phone in his room. Because he’s supposed to be studying, right. Not checking out his not-friend’s body. Even if, y’know, he kind of wants to lick Matt’s abs and do a lot of other questionable stuff to him. “Please just kill me now,” he groans, flicking through the pages of his text miserably.   
  
“If you’re going to die, do it in Evan’s room,” Matt says. The smirk that accompanies this statement isn’t quite friendly, but it’s lacking a lot of the maliciousness that he’s become used to. Their eyes lock for a minute; he feels all fluttery and looks back at his notebook quickly. He silently thanks Matt for cutting Evan off with the energy drinks. Seriously, he can barely finish one without feeling like he’s having a mini-heart attack so he doesn’t understand how Evan has had five. “I’m serious, Ev, no more Red Bull tonight. Danny isn’t going to drive you to the emergency room when you start puking and freaking out if you have another.”   
  
“What the fuck, don’t volunteer me to – oh.” It takes him a minute to realize. “Yeah, no, Matt’s right. If you start puking we’re going to laugh.” That has happened a couple of times now. Evan drinks too many of the stupid things, gets over-excited and makes himself sick because it’s not healthy to drink that many energy drinks in one sitting. He’s not sure why Matt has chosen now to start siding with him. He’s not complaining. They spend the next hour sitting in silence – except for Evan, who’s so jumpy he can’t sit still for five minutes at a time – and it’s less tense than he thought it would be. Every once in a while, he swears he can feel Matt looking at him, but when he looks up Matt’s still completely absorbed in his book. It’s... slightly unsettling and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. The next time he looks up, Matt is actually looking at him. Not in a mean, condescending way or anything, just... looking. “What?” he asks self-consciously.  
  
“You’re not half bad, Kurily. ‘m just trying to figure out who the fuck you are,” Matt replies.  
  
“He’s the man who’s going to help me pass this midterm,” Evan says. “I think we should order pizza. If we’re going to pull an all-nighter, we need pizza.” He looks hopefully at Danny, who then sighs and pulls his phone out to dial the number of the pizza place. Then he looks at Matt with the same expression. “And beer. We should totally get a case of beer, ‘cept that the only person here who’s old enough to buy it won’t do it because he’s a douchebag.”   
  
Matt rolls his eyes. “Buying you beer requires putting shoes and a shirt on and I don’t feel much like doing that right now.” To be honest, Danny is perfectly okay with that idea. Shirtless Matt is something he is a big fan of. Not that he’s showing that outwardly, since they’ve just made some semblance of peace between the two of them and he is not about to mess with the very delicate balance between being civil to each other and being hated for the rest of his sorry life. They make Evan go to pick up the pizza – he’s being really annoying since he’s still hyped up – which leaves Danny alone in the apartment with Matt. He remains where he is, sitting on the floor very quietly.  
  
“... Who’s he been texting all night?” he asks finally.   
  
“Fuck if I know,” Matt says. The look that he has in his eyes is positively devious. “Wanna find out? I don’t think he’s changed his lock code in a while so I should be able to get into his phone... But only because we’re looking out for our friend. It’s not snooping if we’re trying to help. That thing is a fucking distraction. Right?”  
  
He nods his head, and less than a minute later he’s standing in the middle of Matt’s bedroom. Which should be kind of thrilling and sexy, but feels a lot more like a weird nightmare. “Uh... Did you lose a bet or something?” he laughs uncomfortably. There’s Disney memorabilia everywhere. It’s... it’s a total boner-killer, to be honest. The guy has fucking Mickey Mouse everything. So he keeps laughing uncomfortably because he doesn’t know what else to do. Not exactly the end result he’d been hoping for, being invited into the bedroom in the first place. His version of it was a lot sexier and more naked, less... frightening. “Your room kind of gives me the creeps, man. It’s like... a weird pedophile den. Did someone wearing Mickey Mouse gloves touch you as a child or something...?”  
  
“No, I just like Disney.” Matt gets the lock code right on the first try; Danny sits down on the bed a respectable distance away from him and plays with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Hey. Come here and take a look at this. Kirkendall’s a sneaky motherfucker, who’d have thought?” When they open up Evan’s text messages, the most recent ones are from someone whose name in his address book is simply <3\. Less than three. Heart. Love? But then they scroll through his contacts list and his girlfriend’s name is still right where it should be. They go through the rest of his messages – and some of them are fucking raunchy as hell, he feels uncomfortable reading them without even understanding the context of some of them – and it’s only once they’ve gotten to the end of the messages that he realizes two things. He’s resting his chin on Matt’s shoulder, and Matt hasn’t shoved him away or anything. They haven’t even argued the whole time Evan’s been gone.   
  
He asks, “Seriously, what’s with the Mickey Mouse obsession? Doesn’t that one guy you work with tease you about it all the time, what’s his – Jeff, that’s the guy.” Matt makes a little sound of annoyance and shrugs him off. “What, is that like a sore point for you? Did your parents not take you to Disney as a child or something?”  
  
“Fuck off,” Matt groans. He doesn’t move away, though. Instead – when Danny goes to nudge him and annoy him – he grins devilishly and lunges for Danny’s shoulders, pinning him to the mattress playfully. “You can’t just fucking charm your way into my life, man. It doesn’t work that way.”  
  
Danny presses his fingers into Matt’s ribs, causing him to flinch momentarily and giving him just long enough to take control back and get himself on top again. “How does it work, then,” he grunts, pushing his elbow into the older man’s stomach. They’re fucking wrestling on Matt’s bed in the middle of this Disneyfied nightmare, Evan’s phone totally forgotten. He over-balances on his elbows and Matt takes advantage of it, driving his knee up hard.   
  
“You’ve got to stop fucking trying to please other people all the time. You can’t make everybody happy. And I meant what I said when I told you to switch your major.”  
  
He winds up on his back with Matt literally breathing down his neck. “I think the price is too high,” he sighs. “Not the money, I mean. The personal price. Everyone has one, and as much as I hate my parents I don’t really feel like being disowned by them to make myself happy. Money means shit to me, you know. It’s all worthless in the end.”   
  
Matt scowls. “Then why are you fighting so hard?” Matt has his wrists pinned above his head, which isn’t fair. He can’t fight back. They’re staring each other directly in the eye; his heart is racing so fast it’s not even beating but practically vibrating non-stop, and without thinking he licks his lips. He lifts his foot helplessly and then realizes there’s really no place for him to put it to get himself free. “Look, if you don’t do it then you’re always going to regret that decision.”  
  
“You say that like you know the first thing about me,” he mutters. “I barely know who I am anymore, so you’re not in a position to fucking judge.” Even though they’re kind of fighting – and he’s not putting up much of a fight by this point – the only thing he’s focused on is the perspiration running down Matt’s neck and how he would very much like to lick it. It’s a miracle he hasn’t popped a stiffy by now. Apparently he has more self-restraint than he’d thought. But if Matt doesn’t stop sitting on his thighs sometime in the next thirty seconds or so, they’re going to have a bigger problem than the normal tension between them.   
  
“I know enough to be able to tell when someone is being a stupid shit.” Fuck, he can feel the words against his skin. It would be such a small thing to connect their lips, mere inches. Much against his better judgment, his eyes slip shut. The tip of Matt’s nose brushes his; he’s almost sure they’re going to kiss but then Matt hesitates when the latch of the apartment door clicks suddenly. He feels Matt flinch, stiffen, and growl slightly. When he opens his eyes finally, Evan’s standing in the doorway with an incredibly amused, shit-eating grin on his face.   
  
“Whatcha doin’, guys,” he chuckles. The smell of warm pizza wafts in from the kitchen. His hands are still pinned above his head. “Kinda looks like you two were about to make out. I’m not interrupting, am I?” He wouldn’t be wearing that particular expression if he knew that they’d been reading his naughty texts from Less-Than-Three who’s not his girlfriend.   
  
Too quickly, he shoves Matt away and says, “No!” forcefully. Matt says, “Oh, fuck no.” Neither of them mention the text messages. But every time Evan’s phone vibrates the rest of the night, they exchange a knowing look and – holy shit, he can’t even believe it – once, Matt actually smiles at him.   
  


&

  
  
It’s Vinny’s fault that it happens. Everyone is hanging out at Jack, Alex and Rian’s house after they’ve all come back from the Christmas break; most of them have been drinking. Matt is still sober, as are Grieco and Rian – though they’re involved in an intense Mario Kart tournament which is really just a poorly disguised stab at spending more time with Grieco. He very politely turns a blind eye to the number of poorly executed attempts by Rian to cop a feel on his best friend. The girls have already left to get away from the levels of testosterone in the house and do their own thing. It’s pretty obvious that it’s just an excuse on Kara and Lisa’s part to hang out as part of their weirdly sublimated flirtation. He has to wonder, a little bit, when they’re finally going to admit their feelings for each other and get together already. It seems like everyone else in the place is fuckin’ in denial. Even Jack and Alex are acting out of sorts. They’re not pawing at each other the way they normally do. Actually, they’ve kissed maybe once or twice the entire time. On the other hand, Alex is really fuckin’ drunk and Jack is basically holding him up at this point in the evening.   
  
There’s enough alcohol in everyone’s systems, in other words, when Vinny says, “Hey. We should play gay chicken!” and falls back against the couch cushions laughing. Evan snorts and starts laughing, too. Matt folds his arms over his chest and sighs. The rest of the group thinks it’s a hilarious idea, so they sit there watching with rapt attention as Evan and Vinny look at each other, grinning wildly. It will be maybe thirty seconds until one of them starts giggling hysterically. He drums his fingers against the plastic of his water bottle impatiently. Surprisingly, neither of the two calls chicken right away and their lips actually make solid contact for about, oh, fifteen seconds or so before Vinny pulls away howling with laughter and winds up doubled over on the floor. Kirkendall sits there smiling stupidly.  
  
Then fucking Kurily comes back from the garage with another beer in his hand and Evan’s eyes light up. “Okay,” he says, glancing in Matt’s direction. “Your turn.” He feels everyone’s eyes on him and the more they look at him the more preposterous it seems. Easy enough, though. Matt Flyzik is the fucking champion of gay chicken. Nothing can freak him out, even being talked into playing with the one person he dislikes more than almost anyone he knows. They’re expecting him to freak out and say no. Instead, he cracks his jaw, sits up a little straighter.  
  
“Fine,” he mutters. Danny sits down on the arm of the couch, making consistent eye contact with the floor. He sighs. “Well, c’mere, I don’t have all night.”   
  
The first step of the game is to get the other guy to look at him. He reaches up and rests his hand tentatively on the back of Danny’s neck. So far, so good. Then he starts moving in, inching closer incrementally until their breath starts merging and he can practically taste the alcohol on the other man’s lips. “Y’not gonna freak me out,” Danny slurs, wrinkling his nose slightly. Which, no. The object of gay chicken is to creep the opponent out and get him to declare the situation ‘too gay’. He winces slightly – but doesn’t pull away, he’s not calling fucking chicken – when Kurily seizes the front of his shirt roughly and pulls him closer. And if he feels maybe a little bit apprehensive, it’s the taste of the alcohol when their lips collide and absolutely nothing to do with the rich brat he’s suddenly kissing. Damned if he’s going to be the one to pull away first, though. He whines when Kurily’s teeth clamp down on his lower lip and drag across it slowly, but then the teeth are replaced by Danny’s tongue flicking out and running across his lip teasingly. Without hesitation – fuck if he’s going to balk now – he parts his lips and allows Danny’s tongue to slide fluidly into his mouth.   
  
When he slides his free hand up under the soft cotton American Apparel shirt – he kind of hates himself for being able to identify that with his eyes closed – and scrapes his nails along the skin there, Kurily moans wantonly into his mouth and arches up into the touch. That sound – that fucking sound – leads to Kurily straddling him on the couch, grinding down into his hips roughly enough that his body starts to react to it in a way he really fucking does not appreciate. He doesn’t call chicken when it becomes less of a kiss and more making out on the couch he helped carry from Vinny’s to the house last summer. He doesn’t call chicken when Danny’s hands end up in his shirt and one of the kid’s thumbs grazes his nipple suddenly. This is so gay. Seriously, it’s so fuckin’ gay.   
  
“Fuck, too much, too much,” Evan groans, hauling Danny away from him by the scruff of the neck. “Let’s just call this a draw and never speak of it again.”   
  
Matt straightens out his shirt slowly, keeping his arms crossed tightly over his chest afterward and sits in his corner of the couch with his head back, staring at the ceiling. Eventually – once the Mario Kart tournament ends with Grieco coming out slightly ahead, funny how that works out – he feels a tug at the bottom of his shirt. “Hey,” Grieco murmurs, slipping under his arm and curling into his side. “He’s not that bad, you know.”  
  
“Whatever,” he responds, rubbing his palm over his best friend’s hair affectionately. The bristly parts tickle his hand but he doesn’t mind too much.   
  
“Stop being such an asshole,” Grieco scolds him. “You never give people a chance.” He doesn’t fucking want to give anyone a chance. He wants to go home and shower and go to bed and forget that this ever happened. Fucking Kurily and his stupid purple shirt and his stupid hipster scarf and glasses and his whole fucking existence.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack’s making coffee in the morning when he feels Alex hug him from behind and kiss his shoulder blade sloppily. He leans back, resting his hands over top of Alex’s as he closes his eyes. He doesn’t even mind that Alex’s hair is damp from the shower and dripping all over his shoulder and down his back; they stand like that until the coffee’s ready and even then Alex keeps a tight grip on his waist. “Are we okay?” Alex asks, mouthing along his jaw worriedly.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” he confirms, tipping his head back to give his boyfriend better access to his neck. At the same time, Alex’s fingers dip down under the waistband of his boxers, rubbing circles into his hip. They haven’t had sex in a month. For fuck’s sake, all Alex has wanted to do the past couple of weeks is lie around and bitch about everything under the sun. First he was tired all the time and wanted to be left alone. Then he couldn’t sleep and still wanted to left alone. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t shower, would barely even speak to anyone and it’s been... It’s been lonely, and frustrating, and Jack doesn’t even care about the sexual frustration part of that equation anymore. He hates seeing Alex like that and never wants it to happen again. “Are, are you okay?” he asks, twisting around so that he can sit on the counter and pull Alex between his legs.

“I love you,” Alex whispers, nuzzling into his neck suddenly even though Jack has already picked up on the tears shimmering in his eyes.

He says “I love you too” and buries his face in Alex’s hair. “Does this mean you’re feeling better?” At this point, he’s hopeful but has learned not to expect much. Alex’s body is warm and familiar but also a little strange after weeks of sleeping on the couch most nights before creeping back upstairs after Alex has fallen asleep. He doesn’t sleep well on his own and it’s weird to wake up without his boyfriend next to him. They stay like that until the coffee is long past cold, hugging in the middle of the kitchen. Rian walks past grumbling about the two of them being nymphomaniacs, but he doesn’t even care anymore.

Alex pulls away from him, smiling sheepishly. “Need to take my pills,” he mumbles, reaching up past Jack’s shoulder for the tall brown bottle. He shakes out two of the small yellow capsules and dry swallows them with a tiny grimace. It’s the first morning in a week that Jack hasn’t reminded him. Yeah, it’s a small thing, but it’s progress. Then he presses himself against Jack again. “Can you come home early tonight?” His voice sounds so small and uncertain. Oh, fuck. They don’t need any more bad news.

Automatic reaction: Jack kisses his temple and asks, “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothin’.” Alex smiles softly, leans up, and catches his lips affectionately. “I just want to be with you and, um, make up for being so difficult while I figured this shit out.” It takes him a few seconds to figure out the double meaning. He’s a bit slow in the mornings and hasn’t had any coffee yet. The inside of Alex’s mouth tastes like peppermint Scope and sleep. God, he’s missed this so much. There have been so many doctor’s appointments and trips to the psychiatrist and frustrated trips to the store trying to find something they can actually agree on for dinner.

“Do you two ever fucking stop?” Rian grumbles, rummaging in the fridge for his carton of orange juice. Alex flips him off before backing Jack up against the counter again and kissing him deeply. “Seriously guys, I want to make some toast so take it upstairs if you’re going to do that.”

“Later,” Alex promises, rubbing his cheek against Jack’s neck. “You have class and I’ve got assignments to catch up on first.” There’s another kiss on the front step later, when Alex walks Jack to the bus stop – because he’s kind of too lazy to walk ten minutes to campus when there’s a bus stop twenty feet from their house – and then another in the bus shelter while they wait for the bus to arrive. It’s always late. Jack is pretty fucking thrilled that Alex is feeling better finally. Better late than never. Not just about the bus. He’s tired of worrying all the time. They’re going to be okay.

The rest of the day passes in a kind of blur – he’s not really paying attention even though he knows he shouldn’t get too excited about the possibility of sex until he actually gets home and finds out what kind of mood Alex is in. But, it’s still one of the better mornings they’ve had in a while, so it’s a little encouraging. He cuts his evening class; it’s just a dumb film elective so he doesn’t really need to be there. When he gets home, Rian is very conveniently not there. The sound from the stereo carries all the way downstairs, so once he’s dropped his stuff by the front door he goes up to their room and finds Alex lying in bed, naked from – at the very least – the waist up watching the Discovery channel.

“Hey,” he says, sliding out of his jeans and yanking his shirt over his head. “How do you feel?”

Alex curls up against him, kissing his neck softly. “Pretty good. I mean, I don’t feel bad but I don’t feel like going out and running a marathon either? But I’m not, like, super down or anything if that’s what you mean. I just... I miss you.” He gets under the covers, pleasantly surprised to feel Alex’s bare legs brush against his. They start making out without any further discussion.

At first he’s not terribly excited by it, which is an awful thought but semi-necessary to keep himself from being disappointed if Alex changes his mind about it later. It’s hard to be pessimistic, though, when Alex’s tongue is sliding against his own and they’re groping at each other like a couple of fumbling high school kids, grinding their hips together for relief. Considering he hasn’t had sex in over a month, it’s about ten minutes before he’s whimpering at every touch. The good news is that it seems to be having the same effect – oh thank God, if there is a God that really exists – on Alex. It’s been extremely hit and miss since he’s been on Paxil, but this is encouraging. This is very encouraging.

Which is why he squeaks a little when Alex pulls away, afraid that he’s going to get cock-blocked by his boyfriend’s medication yet again. “No, no, it’s okay,” Alex murmurs, rubbing at his hip seductively. “Don’t go anywhere, just...” He’s pretty sure his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store when he realizes that Alex is reaching over into their sex drawer for the lube. Alex laughs and kisses him lightly before pressing the bottle into his hand. Yeah, he doesn’t need to be told what to do with that. The lube is cold on his fingers – fuck, it’s lube and it’s been sitting in a drawer for a month, of course it’s going to feel cold – but then he pushes them into Alex, who’s lying on his back with his legs spread, and it’s fucking magical.

“Shit,” he groans, moving his fingers back and shifting his wrist to get a better angle. Alex makes a small, shaky noise but doesn’t stop him, so he pushes them in further, pressing up until they brush Alex’s prostate – and he always, always knows when he’s found it because Alex’s entire body shivers and he makes this sound. Since he’s accomplished that feat he knows it’s okay to start scissoring his fingers a little. “Oh fuck.” Then, Alex’s hands are on him and it’s a serious task not to come right then and there. Hands and mouth and fingers fucking everywhere, all over his body.

Alex shoves his hands away and looks at him with this very annoyed expression on his face. “If you don’t fuck me now I’m seriously going to make you sleep downstairs tonight.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. Very, very cautiously he lubes himself up – it’s kind of necessary because he really doesn’t want to sleep on the couch again – and then before Alex can yell at him again he pushes in slowly, eliciting a fucking pornographic moan from his boyfriend. It’s not exactly the most amazing they’ve ever had. He lasts under a minute, seriously, because Alex is tight as hell from a month of no sex and he’s way too horny for his own good. Probably should’ve gone easy on the fingering, he thinks in his post-orgasm haze. But he’s not that inconsiderate – he takes the time to jerk Alex off, too, before collapsing in a sweaty heap on his side of the bed. “What,” he pants when Alex pokes his cheek, grinning brightly.

“That was officially the shortest time it’s ever taken you to finish,” Alex chuckles. “Seriously, it was like DICK. HOLES. BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE. ORGASM. END.”

“I haven’t had sex in a month, what do you expect.” He wipes his hand on a dirty shirt lying on the floor near the bed before wrapping himself around Alex. They make out lazily for a while before Alex starts yawning and stretching all over him like... well, kind of like a little sassy cat thing. “Go to sleep, babe,” he sighs, brushing his lips over Alex’s cheek. “And if you ever utter those words again you’re going to be the one sleeping on the couch, just so you know.”

&

The scene goes as follows: They’re sitting around the dining room table for Sunday dinner. His mother and father are each immaculately dressed; they’re eating off the good dishes and both parents are drinking an expensive red wine. Danny’s sitting there in his sweats and a hoodie, hasn’t showered since Thursday night, and he’s drinking his own wine straight from the box. His plate of half-eaten food is still sitting in front of him. All he’s done, pretty much, is push it around with his fork and eat the potatoes. They don’t need to say anything for him to know that they’re judging him. Finally, his mother clears her throat noisily. “Hem-hem! I would appreciate it if you’d take your hat off at the table,” she says in that annoyingly fake voice. Her real voice – the one she uses when she’s angry – is about two octaves lower.

“No,” he grumbles. He’s sort of picked up the beanie-wearing habit from Alex. In return, Alex has somehow managed to steal about half of his wardrobe without him noticing. Irritably, he pulls his beanie down over his ears and chugs the rest of his wine even though it tastes completely awful. Why are they so dressed up to eat a meal in their own home? It’s not like forcing him to have dinner with them once a week actually promotes family togetherness if none of them speak to each other.

“Take your hat off, please,” his father says tersely. They’re both sitting there staring at him, and all he can think about is how fucking insincere the whole scene is. They’re supposed to be this very well-to-do family, but his parents don’t even sleep in the same bedroom and they’ve got him taking these classes he doesn’t even care about. If he has to keep up the facade any longer, he’s going to scream. He doesn’t want to take his fucking hat off. Maybe Matt’s right about him trying to make everybody happy – maybe he’s trying too hard to please everyone but himself – and it’s that thought that inspires him to make his next statement. Since apparently not speaking to any of his high school friends, hanging out with a group of people so far from the circles his family is ‘supposed’ to run in they don’t even inhabit the same planet, and getting tattoos and piercing his nose isn’t enough of an indicator to them, he’s finally going to do the one thing that will distance himself from his fucking pretentious family for good.

He sits up very straight and looks his mother directly in the eye. She’s the one who pulls the strings in this house; he and his father are just puppets under her control. It’s fucking terrifying. Then he spreads his hands out on the table, palms down, and says very calmly, “I’m switching my major to music.” He doesn’t flinch when the fork drops out of his mother’s hand and clatters onto the plate loudly. It’s been a month since he kissed Matt at that party and – as much as he hates to admit it – Matt was kind of right about a lot of things. He’s really not happy.

“No, you’re not,” his mother says. Out comes the angry voice. “I thought we agreed you were going to pick political science as your major.”

He fights the urge to curl his hands into fists or to press his hands together. One of the things – about the only useful thing – he learned in psychology lecture was about body language. She’s not going to have the upper hand this time. With the same unbearable calmness, he says “We didn’t agree on anything. You told me what to do and I’m not going to listen to you.”

Before either of his parents can say anything else to him, he stands up and walks away in pretty much the quintessential teenage rebellion stomp-out, complete with bedroom door-slamming. He’s maybe a little bit irritable since he’s been awake for most of the past seventy-two hours practicing for his audition to see if he’ll get accepted into the music program at all in the morning. Who the fuck is Danny Kurily these days? All he cares about is his friends and his guitars and the one time he made out with a guy who hates him at a party. He’s probably going to bomb his audition completely. His parents probably aren’t going to pay for next year’s tuition so he’ll probably have to find a job for the summer. Surprisingly, he’s not upset about it. It might actually gain him some credibility with certain people, come to think of it.

Not that he’s still thinking of ways to impress Matt or anything. That would be stupid. Especially since the guy doesn’t talk to him and they’re currently going out of their way to avoid each other. He knows better than to ever bring it up again.

&

“Are you going to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood these days or can I safely assume that this has something to do with Danny?” Jeff asks. Matt flips him off, shifting the weight of the case of beer he’s carrying inside on his hip awkwardly. He doesn’t fucking want to talk about it. “C’mon, Mickey. You can’t keep denying that you feel something for him. I can tell that you do.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ didn’t get through to you the last eight times you’ve tried to start this conversation with me?” he sighs. “I don’t like him. End of story.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “You’re being impossible and classist.”

He sets the case down under the counter and then hops up to sit on the bar with his feet hanging down like a little kid would. “I’m not being classist, I just don’t like him. He irritates me. I dislike his personality, his clothes and his stupid haircut.” Which he probably shouldn’t have said because Jeff’s eyes light up and the bastard starts grinning at him. This is why he hates volunteering for overtime; he has to help unload the trucks that deliver everything to the venue and it has the added bonus of Jeff harassing him about fucking Kurily all the time. For some reason, despite the fact that it is completely fuckin’ untrue, Jeff seems to be under the mistaken impression that he has deep-seated feelings of repressed longing toward the little shit. The only thing he longs to do to the kid is tell him to fuck off forever, maybe.

“But you did notice his haircut.”

“Eat shit, Maker. That means nothing.” Yeah. He’s just been taking the bus to work again and avoiding the places where he knows Danny will be because he doesn’t want to deal with the situation. It’s not so bad, really. There’s one guy who takes the bus frequently at the same time he does that seems pretty nice, in an ‘I’d like to ass-rape you in a dark alley where no one can hear you screaming’ kind of way. Just because he made one fucking comment about Kurily’s new douchey haircut does not mean anything. They haven’t had an actual conversation since the beginning of the semester and he’s quite okay with that trend continuing.

He notices a lot of things, though. Like how Evan’s still texting the mysterious person who is definitely not his girlfriend and how Jack and Alex are doing better these days. He’s even – mostly – gotten over his intense hatred of anyone who tries to get with his best friend; Rian’s a decent guy and he probably won’t fuck things up too badly. Grieco is oblivious to Rian’s huge fucking crush, however. He and Jeff unload the rest of the deliveries in silence. It still feels like he’s being silently judged by Jeff’s eyebrows. Every time he glances over at the road he half-expects Danny’s shitty car to be sitting there waiting to pick him up and drive him home. Sometimes they even got coffee on the way there. And, like, Starbucks instead of the shitty watered-down kind they sell next door to the venue. He will never, ever say that out loud to anyone, but he does miss the coffee. Once, they just sat in the parking lot behind Starbucks and drank their over-priced drinks and listened to the Sex Pistols together in silence. That was actually kind of nice.

Now Kurily generally stomps around campus with his guitar case and he always looks tired and cranky. He cut all his hair off and he’s started wearing the same idiotic beanies that Alex does. Either he’s going through some kind of existential life crisis or he finally stood up to his parents about the whole music thing... Possibly both. It’s a lot less satisfying than he thought it would feel. Mostly, when he sees Danny coming out of the corner of his eye, he just feels strangely twitchy and sulky. When they’ve locked up for the night, he sort of wishes he didn’t have to take the bus home. It would be awesome to get more than four or five hours’ sleep before he has to paste on a smile while he waits tables for minimum wage plus tips. “See you tomorrow night,” he says to Jeff.

“You know, you could take a day off once in a while and it wouldn’t kill you,” Jeff tells him.

He groans. “No, but I’d be very hungry.” There’s a container full of cold mac and cheese waiting for him at home unless Evan has eaten it all. He can’t remember ever feeling this miserable about anything. They live on pasta and free food from various events on campus and he takes the bus everywhere in the cold and the dark and the rain. As much as it pains him to admit, his life may have been slightly less crappy with Kurily in it. At least then he had someone to drive him around, even if it was annoying as hell that he never got to pay for his own shit then. Which, actually. In retrospect wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

&

Matt comes home later than usual and, from what Evan can tell, he goes straight to bed. It’s a good thing because he’s not exactly alone in bed and doesn’t want to deal with the fallout when, inevitably, someone clues in to what’s going on and chews him out for it. He knows, okay? He knows that it’s probably completely inadvisable to be carrying on a sexual relationship with his best friend while still dating his girlfriend. He knows that it’s unfair to both of them, but he doesn’t know what to do. As time goes on it’s become glaringly obvious that he’s putting more effort into this... affair... than he has during his entire relationship with her. It’s only going to be riskier as the summer months drag on. He should just... put an end to things before they can carry on any further. It would be the responsible thing to do, right?

He’s almost asleep when he hears a commotion from Matt’s room. A few seconds later, the light in the kitchen goes off and he can see Matt stalking across the living room to dump his – presumably dirty – sheets in the hamper. “Fuck you, Evan,” Matt grumbles, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door.

“Still pretending you’re not having wet dreams about somebody you claim to hate?” he jokes. Vinny makes an annoyed sound when he sits up and turns on the light.

Matt scowls and says, “Still pretending you’re not cheating on your girlfriend then? People in glass houses, man. Glass. fucking. houses. And it was not a wet dream! It was just,” he flails uselessly with his hands, “A thing. Oh, hey Vinny. Tell Evan he’s a fuckin’ douchebro for cheating on Ashley.”

Vinny can barely hide his laughter. “Ev, you’re a douchebro. Also you were totally having a wet dream, Flyzik, don’t even lie. You’ve wanted to bone Danny ever since that party. Seriously. Do us all a favour and just have a night of majestic hate-sex with him and get over it already.” They’re doing a surprisingly good job of pretending that everything is normal for two guys who very nearly got caught in the act. If Matt had come home ten minutes earlier... Fuck. Too close for comfort. He’s suddenly very glad to be part of a group of friends that sleep in the same bed on a regular basis, or this would be the part where Matt starts shouting ‘J’accuse!’ and brands him with a scarlet A forever.

“I hate you both,” Matt growls before stomping back to his own bedroom.

Once they’re sure he’s gone to bed – easy to tell since he’s so loud when he’s awake, what with all the stomping and banging around – Vinny looks at him and says, “Well, that could’ve gotten awkward really fast.” Thank God for small miracles; he’s not sure how Matt didn’t pick up on it considering there are clothes lying all over the floor and it smells distinctly of sex. The question hangs unasked in the air, though; Vinny pulls him back down and kisses him before he can say that maybe they shouldn’t be doing this anymore. He can’t exactly say no to this. It feels too good to stop.

The first few times it was awkward as hell and they both laughed a lot. Now it’s just... They hang out for a while and drink, then one of them will initiate it and they end up having sex. It’s not even like it can really be considered cheating. “Mmmf,” he sighs when they pull apart. The words come out before he can check himself; he’s been stoppering up these feelings for weeks and they kind of burst out. “Love you.”

“’Kay,” Vinny yawns. “Will you drive me home in the morning so I can shower?”

Evan looks at him and feels that familiar mix of fondness and frustration. “Yeah,” he says finally. “You know, you could leave some stuff here if you wanted to...” It’s a very roundabout way of asking if he thinks things are getting kind of serious between them. It feels like they are. Vinny shrugs and looks at him in a way that distinctly reads as ‘You’re insane but I think I like it’.

“Dude, we’re not going to start taking showers together, are we? Because that might be a little too gay even for us,” Vinny mutters. The thing is that he’s not even being sarcastic. Having sex is one thing, but showering together is just a little too intimate for comfort. He loves the guy, but at the same time, there are probably some things he’s better off not knowing about his best friend. What if Vinny’s one of those people who sings in the shower and his singing is off-key? Evan is not prepared to deal with that. It’s a little thing, but crappy singing is a deal-breaker for him. Not that he’s consciously planning on making this a continuing thing, but it’s something he has to think about. Or maybe he’s just looking for an exit strategy because he can’t cope with the guilt anymore.

&

The first day of his second year of college is remarkably like his first. Jack and Alex shepherd him off to the appropriate area and he’s still just as nervous as he was last year because he’s in an entirely different faculty with different classrooms and buildings and people to deal with. It’s intimidating as hell because all the other music majors already know each other and have had an entire year to work out their group dynamic; he knows a grand total of Rian and Grieco. Who aren’t actually of that much use to him anyway since they’re too busy trying to pretend they’re not desperately in love with each other... The only advantage he’s got is because he did a year of general studies last year, he won’t have to take a lot of electives this year so he can catch up quickly. Before he can sneak quietly off to one of the practice rooms before his first actual music class, though, Jack and Alex grab him and haul him off to the cafeteria.

“Where d’you think you’re going, Kurily?” Alex says, catching him by the elbow.

He nearly does a face-plant into one of the trees in the middle of the quad but stops himself in time. “I was going to get some practice in before my first music class?” he replies, shifting his messenger bag on his shoulder so he won’t almost fall over again. It’s not like he’s trying to avoid his friends on purpose; he’d just rather not endure Matt’s cold silence if he doesn’t have to.

Alex glares at him. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know. It’s stupid that you’re trying to when it’s kind of obvious that you’re stupid about him.”

“Stupid about who?” Jack asks, pressing himself against Alex’s other side. “You guys never tell me anything. I swear I’m the last to know everything that happens with you guys.” Today, he’s got a lovingly drawn penis on his forearm that can only be Alex’s handiwork. Real classy. “Danny, man, I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“He’s not,” Alex says before he can protest. “He’s in love with Matt, though.”

Great. His arms are either in Alex’s surprisingly strong but bony grip or hanging onto his guitar case, meaning he can’t give Alex the punch he so obviously deserves for that remark. “I hate you,” he groans, gritting his teeth so hard it hurts. “And I am not stupid about him! You’re an idiot.”

When they get to their table, he freezes up a little bit. God-fucking-dammit. Matt looks at him appraisingly and goes, “Wow, you actually look like less of a douche this year. Good job.”

“Uh, was that supposed to be a compliment?” He slides in between Matt and Grieco so he can glare across the table at his alleged ‘best friends’. This is so, so painfully awkward. He’s not going to say anything about it if Matt’s not. Part of him had been hoping that the summer would allow things to mellow out a little bit, but he still feels uptight, tense, and like his heart is going to leap out of his throat onto the table at any moment. Their thighs kind of press together on the bench and it’s all he can do not to jump out of his skin.

Matt says, very evenly, “I have to be nice to you so I can borrow Evan’s car.”

“Good to know; I was worried you forgot who I was for a second and mistook me for someone you actually like. Glad we got that cleared up.”

Alex kicks him under the table and hisses, “Be nice.” Then, Alex proceeds to pretend he’s done nothing at all and busies himself with his boyfriend’s mouth.

“So,” Danny says awkwardly. “Um, good summer?” It’s better to try and act like this is normal, right? Grieco’s not even paying attention to him – some stupid discussion with Rian about drumsticks and cymbals and things he’s never going to need to know about – and he’d really rather not join in on the discussion about the benefits of bronzers at the other end of the table. He can safely say that no, he’s never felt the urge to get that ‘sun-kissed’ look.

Matt shrugs. “It was, you know. Worked a lot, hung out with Grieco. I’m sure you have some fabulous story about your family’s vacation to your private island in the Caribbean though, so you might as well get on with it.”

“Actually... I kind of just worked all summer.” He’s still got the last remnants of a sunburn on his shoulders; he spent the last month helping Evan’s dad with a bunch of construction jobs and it was a lot harder than he expected. It feels good to be able to say, though. And he does feel a certain sense of smugness when he takes in Matt’s surprised expression.

“... Oh.”

Then he remembers something he’d been wondering about for a while and lowers his voice. “Hey, did you ever find out who Evan was...?” he whispers.

“You really think I wanted to know any more about his sex life? Every time I ask him about it he just says he’s texting Vinny.” Matt wrinkles his nose and sighs. “Like I’m actually going to believe that.”

Evan cuts into their side conversation by saying, “Hey, since you guys are such good friends now, you can give Matt a ride to work later ‘cause I’ve got a date.”

“... Fuck you, Evan,” he grumbles.

He shouldn’t have worried about it being awkward, though. The rest of the day passes without event – ‘without event’ meaning that he and Matt don’t fight and behave like civilized human beings to each other. At the end of the day he sits in his car with the windows down and waits for Matt to come out of the humanities building. It’s a familiar event that’s somehow unfamiliar; it’s been months since he’s driven Matt to work. He changes the CD in the stereo five or six times before his passenger appears, looking annoyed.

“Is it necessary for freshmen to stand in the middle of campus fucking giggling?”

Danny starts the car. “I don’t think they’re very discriminating about where they choose to stand and giggle. It’s the freshman imperative.” When Matt goes to touch the settings on his stereo, instinctively, he reaches out to slap the other man’s hand away. It’s sort of frightening how quickly they’ve fallen back into this routine. “Hey, um,” he says. “If you ever need a ride anywhere, you can. Uh. You can call me and I’ll come.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, so the football game Sunday. Grieco and I, we’re watching it at my place if you want to, like. This is stupid. You probably don’t even want to come. You probably want to sit at Jack and Alex’s and drink PBR or whatever.”

“Oh, bullshit, you just don’t want anyone to see you cry when the Eagles lose to the Ravens.”

“That was my allergies! I wasn’t crying, fuck. You’re a dick.” And then Matt changes his CD anyway; he doesn’t complain. It’s too weird that they’re not fighting. He doesn’t want to screw that up now. Besides, he was kind of feeling more like blink-182 than Duran Duran.

&

Evan sits on the side of the bathtub watching Matt shave. “You know, you should probably just tell him that you like him so the rest of us can stop feeling awkward about your sexual frustration,” he says. But he’s one to talk since he barely even looks up from his iPhone as he speaks; he’s got that very definite ‘I’m texting my mistress and she’s saying sexy things to me but I’m pretending not to be turned on for your sake’ look about him. “I mean, you’re shaving for him. The least you could do is not wear that shitty baseball cap for once.”

“You’re full of shit, you know that? At least pretend not to be texting one of your girlfriends while you’re sitting in the bathroom with me. And for the record, I am not shaving for him. Some of us can actually grow facial hair and don’t want to look like dwarves about to journey off to Mordor to destroy the One Ring with Frodo.”

“For the record, I’m texting Vinny, so you can pull the stick out of your ass, dipshit.”

Matt runs some water over his toothbrush to dampen the toothpaste before scrubbing his teeth vigorously, pulling faces at the mirror to ensure he’s reached all of those particularly tricky spots. “Lggh ah b-leev urgh teh-tig Vi’hy,” he says through his mouthful of toothpaste.

Evan looks at him as if he’s got rocks in his head. “I’m sleeping with Vinny,” he says quietly.

Matt nearly chokes on his toothbrush trying not to laugh. “Seriously, your jokes aren’t funny, Ev. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on with you, I’m not going to make you, but for Chrissake, at least come up with a better lie than that.” He spits the remainder of his toothpaste into the sink and proceeds to rinse with mouthwash. Because... fuckin’ bacteria. It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone. It’s just going to be him and Grieco. Well, and Kurily, but he’s trying not to think about that because every time he does he gets this feeling in his chest like he can’t breathe.

“Fine,” Evan mutters, “Don’t say I didn’t try to tell you. I’m gonna go to the house, but I’ll see you later if you haven’t already gone to bed. Enjoy your date!” Grieco arrives as Evan’s leaving, so he doesn’t even get a chance to come up with an appropriate rebuttal to that statement. It’s not what it looks like. He’s not trying to impress anyone.

“New jeans?” Grieco asks.

“For fuck’s sake, will everybody hop off my dick! I’m not trying to impress anyone, this isn’t a date and I am not fucking trying to get on better terms with Kurily so can we just leave it alone for one second please.” Before he can say anything else stupid – or have another outburst – he retreats to the bathroom to floss. It’s important. It’s an excuse to not have to talk so he can rein in his stupid emotions before they make him do something he’ll regret later on.

His subconscious is seriously fuckin’ trying to kill him or something. All day, in the back of his mind, has been that stupid party and that stupid kiss and he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s tired of remembering it. By the time he’s decently presentable, the game is just about to start and Kurily has turned up. Whoosh, there goes all the air out of his lungs.

“Hey,” he says, feeling self-conscious without his hat. This is the last time he listens to Evan about anything. Ever. He feels naked.

“Ready to watch the Eagles lose?”

He’s really not that annoyed when Danny yanks on his shirt, but he says “Eat shit, Kurily,” anyway so as not to break with tradition. Before he can do anything else awkward, he decides he’d better sit down and plants himself next to Grieco, who he’s planning to use as a human shield. If, y’know, anything should happen that he isn’t open to. Like making out. That would be... It might not be the worst thing in the world, but it’s also not something that’s going to be happening today, in this apartment, when his roommate isn’t home and Grieco mumbled something about going to see Rian when he came in earlier. It seems like Danny’s going out of his way to touch him, too, which is all kinds of weird and makes him feel incredibly awkward.

It only gets worse from there. He can’t even concentrate on the game because he’s so horribly aware of the man sitting next to him and the fact that this was a completely awful idea. The couch isn’t even designed for three people to sit on! So they’re sitting there all sandwiched together and he feels all... painfully aware of Danny’s thigh touching his. Maybe they should make out or something just to kill the tension. Not that, like. He wants to, or anything. It’s kind of the only option. And it wasn’t exactly bad the last time; he’s definitely made out with other people and enjoyed it much less.

He’s incredibly relieved when Grieco excuses himself from the awkwardness to go hang out with Rian for a while. Yeah, he kind of owes his best friend big-time for this. Then, he spends the rest of the half sitting there wondering how he’s supposed to make a move on someone he’s spent all of his time up until now hating. It’s a lot more difficult than he thought it would be. Most of his ideas regarding this particular topic revolve around heated arguments turning into really hot make-out sessions and then angry, passionate hate-sex. He really has no idea how to instigate what he wants to come out of this.

&

So... Danny has relatively little idea how an argument about lesbian jokes turns into making out with this really, really, ridiculously good-looking guy he’s kind of crazy about. One minute, they’re just sitting there arguing and in the back of his mind he’s thinking about how fucking gorgeous Matt looks when he’s pissed off, and then he surprises himself by going boldly where he’s drunkenly gone before. He’s sure as hell not expecting Matt to kiss back – but he does, and there are Matt’s hands tugging at his shirt while their mouths are pressed together biting and sucking and licking. There’s nothing else to do with his hands but try to keep his forward momentum; in other words, they’re pretty much just trying to undress each other and it’s hot and he doesn’t understand it. The next thing he knows, they’re both shirtless – not that he minds, seriously, Matt’s parents deserve a medal or something for creating such a fucking spectacular man – and he’s maybe kind of hard in his jeans and desperate to get off.

“Hold on,” Matt mumbles against his skin. “’s not going to work if we stay like this, couch isn’t big enough.” He’s sort of in shock about the whole thing, to be honest. A little moan sneaks out when Matt grabs him roughly through his jeans. “Fuck, we’re really doing this. Bedroom?”

“... Only if you promise to let me buy you some new sheets.”

Matt growls at him irritably. “There’s nothing wrong with my sheets!”

He doesn’t really feel like he should need to point out all of the levels of wrongness about the situation, but he does it anyway. “Uh, we’re about to have sex on sheets with Mickey Mouse’s face on them. That seems a little wrong to me, I don’t know. I mean, I’m still totally down if you are, just... um. If we ever have sex again it would be...”

“Yeah, okay, okay, you can buy me sheets if you want,” Matt replies, pulling him down onto the bed. He gets momentarily distracted by Matt’s teeth sinking into his bare shoulder; it’s kind of a given, at this point. “So Evan tried to tell me that he’s sleeping with Vinny... Fucking ridiculous, right?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing at the idea of that. Evan and Vinny. They’re best friends; they’re pretty much the last people who would ever sneak around together having sex. He can’t really imagine either of them would be very stealthy, so if it were true they would have found out ages ago. It’s the most fucking implausible idea he’s ever heard. The sex is essentially how he imagined it would be: quick, dirty and ridiculously hot. He’s got a few lovebites that are going to last for days. Somehow, though, he’s perfectly okay with that idea – it’ll probably piss his parents off immensely when he shows up at home later with his gorgeous not-boyfriend in tow and he’s still got the evidence of the previous night’s events all over his body. It will probably end up making the whole music major thing look small by comparison, at least. Which would be nice, seeing as he plans to never work in construction again for as long as he lives.

“You’re not just doing this to piss your parents off, right?” Matt asks afterward.

He shakes his head. “Naw, if I was doing this to piss them off then we would have gone and had sex on my dining room table or something. But, you know, we can totally do that sometime if you’re up for it.”

“How about we wait until our first real date before we talk about sex again,” Matt sighs. Which means that they’re going to have a first date. Before he can even process that information, Matt looks at him sternly and adds, “Don’t think I’m going to let you walk all over me just ‘cause you’re fucking cute and I like you. I’m still going to call you on your bullshit if I think you’re being stupid. Although, ahem, I wouldn’t say no to sex in the back of your car after the first date."


End file.
